


Solid Ground

by bette (ferns)



Category: The Flash (Comics), The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: 3 different canons squished into one, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Barry has ADHD, Gen, Heteropaternal Twins, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jewish Characters, Other, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Cuddling, Trans Characters, autistic characters, but it turned out as polyamory instead, remember that time dc tried to make a love triangle, yeah me too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-11-05 06:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11007444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferns/pseuds/bette
Summary: The Allen family is eating dinner when Henry spots the figure standing outside of their window.He frowns and stands, resting one hand on Barry’s shoulder to silence him as he squints into the darkness. “Honey, there’s someone out in the front yard looking in.”Or, in which Malcolm gets the ending that he deserves.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I smashed together 3 different canon materials to make this fic's timeline semi make sense, and even then it's kind of a stretch. What that means is while this is mostly based off of the Cobalt Blue storyline (clearly) at least at the beginning, there's a lot of CW 'verse things (if you're imagining the West family in this fic as white (outside of William), you're wrong, they're black-on a related note, Henry is Taiwanese in this fic) and _way_ more New 52 things.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: mentions/discussions of child abuse (nothing too in depth) and mentions of blood.

The Allen family is eating dinner when Henry spots the figure standing outside of their window.

He frowns and stands, resting one hand on Barry’s shoulder to silence him as he squints into the darkness. “Honey, there’s someone out in the front yard looking in.”

Nora frowns and stands up as well, which prompts Barry to join them. Henry’s already heading for the door before Barry gets all the way to his feet. 

Henry opens it and moves to look at the yard in front of their window before he makes a sound of surprise. “What are you doing out here, son?” There’s a squeaking sound and Barry cranes his neck in an attempt to see, seventeen years old and all long legs and arms. Henry grabs for something (or someone) in the darkness, making a concerned sound at the back of his throat. “No, don’t run-is that _blood?”_  

There’s a little yelping noise, and Henry steps back underneath the porch light, arms wrapped around a scrawny teenager with blood dried on their hands and arms. Wordless screams ripped out of their throat as they thrashed, eyes that were just a few shades lighter than Barry’s wide and terrified. “Let me go!” They yell, and Barry jumps. Their voice was shriller and more pitched than he had been expecting. “Let me go, let me go, let me go!” 

“Easy, hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.” Henry doesn't loosen his grip. “I’m a doctor, I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. But if you don’t stop squirming you’re going to hurt yourself. Just take some deep breaths.” 

The kid goes limp in Henry’s arms, gasping for breath a little. Their chest heaves, eyes shining with tears, and Barry’s heart almost stops beating as he stares. Despite the dirt and blood and grime that sticks to the other teenager’s clothes, hair, and skin, it’s like looking into a mirror. A mirror with darker skin and eyes and hair, but… Still. A mirror all the same. Nora must notice as well, because she reaches out and grasps for Henry’s upper arm, unable to tear her gaze away from the stranger.

“Henry,” she says softly but still firmly, “let him go.” Henry lets go, carefully and slowly and gently. The teenager stayed still, eyes flickering back and forth between Henry and Nora and Barry. Nora smiles a little, but Barry and Henry have known her for long enough that they can both tell it’s fake. “Hello, sweetie. My name is Nora. Can you tell me why you were outside our window?”

The kid goes still at that, watching her with wide eyes as they tremble. Barry’s pretty sure they’re about to cry. “Hi,” he says softly, looking them in the eyes, because he’s not sure what else he  _ could _ say to someone who looks like a copy of him. Sort of-there’s differences, of course, like the scars. “I’m Barry.”

“I’m-” They pause, chewing on their lower lip, which already looked shredded and bloody. “I’m Malcolm.”

Their legs suddenly go out from under them as they collapse on the floor of the Allen family living room, bloody hands bracing on the floor as they visibly tremble. Henry drops down onto his knees beside them, resting one hand on their shoulder before pulling it back when they flinch away. “Are you alright, son? Do you need to go to the hospital? I can take you there.”

“N-no, no-no doctors, please-” Malcolm chokes out, still shaking. Barry backs up, face pale. He doesn’t do very well with sick people, and it certainly  _ looks  _ like Malcolm is sick.

“I’m a doctor, kiddo,” Henry says slowly, making sure that Malcolm is listening to him. “If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then I’m going to ask you a few questions now, okay? Are you sick?”

Malcolm shakes their head slowly, chest heaving. “No. I don’t-I don’t think so.”

“Can I feel your pulse?” Henry reaches for Malcolm’s wrist. “I think you’re going into shock, but I want to make sure.”

Malcolm scoots away from him. “No, don’t-no touching-”

“No touching?” Henry glances up at Nora from the floor, and she stepped around them to close the still-open front door. Malcolm squeaks, and Henry takes that as a yes. “Okay. Just a few more questions. Is that blood yours? If it is, where’s it coming from?”

“S’not mine.” Malcolm crawls away even more until they’re partially underneath the dining room table which accidentally smears dirt and dried blood all over the floor. “I’m not going into shock.” They sound more like they’re trying to convince themself than telling the truth. “I’m  _ not.” _

“Are you sure? Because I’m the doctor here, and I think you are.” Henry looks at Barry, worry written all over his face. “Bar, can you run up and get a blanket and a pillow? And Nora, honey-call Darryl, please.”

Barry nods slowly and races up the stairs as fast as he can, grabbing the pillow off his bed plus one of the blankets. He tries to get his thoughts in order, trying to figure out how he was supposed to-well, that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to do, outside of help his parents.

His parents, who were trying to calm down his mysterious bloody semi-doppelgänger who showed up out of nowhere.

This may have been the weirdest day of Barry’s life, and it wasn’t even over yet.

He trips down the stairs, clutching the blanket and pillow. “I got them.”

“Great, put them on the couch. Malcolm, can you lie down on the couch on your own or do you need my help?” Henry stands, holding out a hand to Malcolm, who leans away from it and uses the table as a support to get to his feet.

“I can get there.” Malcolm stumbles to the couch and falls face first onto it.

Henry sighs. “Kiddo, can you put your legs up on the pillow Barry brought?”

Malcolm nods fast, thrashing around on the couch for a second as they try to find a good way to position themselves even as he continues to insist that, “I’m not going into shock.”

“Okay, I believe you.” Henry reaches for the zipper on Malcolm’s jacket and pulls it down before Malcolm has a chance to react. “I want you to stay still now, alright? Just take some deep breaths. You’re doing great.” He drapes the blanket that Barry brought down over them. “Do you have any family that I can call? Parents or grandparents or even an older sibling?”

“Um.” Malcolm goes very, very quiet. “I…” He coughs a little awkwardly, blushing. “You’re my family."

* * *

 

“He’s… My brother?” Barry chewed on his lip. His right leg was bouncing up and down at top speed, betraying his anxiety despite his almost icily calm demeanor.

“He looks like you,” Henry pointed out. “At least somewhat. More like me than you do.” He took a deep breath. “And… You did have a twin, remember? A stillborn one. Clearly, he’s not as, uh, dead as we thought.”

Barry buried his face in his hands. “So Mom’s with my-my brother?”

“She’s going to get the whole story out of him,” Henry promised. “And she’ll know if he’s lying. She’s been able to read you like a book ever since you were a little kid.”

Barry hugged his shoulders. “What about Darryl?” It was starting to feel weird to call Darryl by his name, but currently they didn’t have any other alternatives. Calling him ‘dad’ felt too strange. “Mom called him.”

“He’s on his way.” Henry squeezed Barry’s shoulder. “If Malcolm really is your brother…” He shook his head. “We’ll have to find the people who he’s been living with and talk to them, of course. Ask them if they knew that he wasn’t their biological son.”

Barry stiffened a little, chewing on his lip a little bit more violently. “If Malcolm is my twin, why doesn’t he look like me?”

Henry sighed and leaned back. “Well, there’s the fact that he’s evidently, uh”-Henry flailed a little bit awkwardly and Barry rolled his eyes-“there’s also… Well… There’s a thing called heteropaternal twins-have you learned about them before?”

“We never learned about it in Health or Bio.” Barry shrugged. He furrowed his eyebrows and bounced his leg with a bit more enthusiasm. “Hetero-that’s ‘other’, right? Like heterochromia and heterosexual and heteronuclear?”

“Exactly. So heteropaternal means a set of twins with different fathers,” Henry explained. “Which means that while you and Malcolm share Nora as your mother, you almost definitely have me and Darryl separately as your other parents.”

Barry’s face turned bright red. He’d found out about Darryl being his biological dad on his own, although it had been fairly easy-his blond hair and bright blue eyes had to have come from someone other than Henry and Nora, with their dark brown and bright green eyes respectively. Unfortunately, he’d decided to confront them by running downstairs to interrupt them while Darryl was over for dinner (Barry had been sent up to finish his homework).

Not just dinner, as it turned out, and Barry accidentally ran in on his mom washing dishes while his dad and his, well, other dad kissed. It was a lot easier for Barry to only remember the kissing part of what he walked in on-at least it hadn’t been much more than, uh, heavy petting. Henry and Darryl hadn’t even noticed that Barry was there at first, although Nora had started laughing from the kitchen and shouted that it wasn’t really a secret anymore, was it?

It had been one of the most embarrassing moments of Barry’s life.

“So… You’re Malcolm’s dad, and Darryl is mine?” Barry asked. “But we’re still twins?”

“I’m both of your dads,” Henry said. “And so is Darryl. But biologically, yes-it’s very, very rare, and there are only a few recorded cases, but it’s not exactly unheard of.” 

Barry hummed, switching which leg he was bouncing up and down. “He acts like Danny.” 

Henry sighed. He remembered Daniel West-the Wests were separated, but Iris, who was Barry’s girlfriend, lived permanently with her dad, Joe, while Daniel and Rudy were split between there and their stepdad’s house (their mother had died in a car accident a few years after the divorce). Apparently, Rudy rarely stayed at either place, and Henry had never met him. But Daniel…

The Allens had always suspected that Daniel was being abused, but there was no real concrete evidence outside of what Iris had confided in Barry. He’d run away from home about a year and a half before, the day after he turned eighteen, and hadn’t been seen since.

And, hell, Barry wasn’t wrong. Malcolm  _ did  _ act like Daniel, with his bruises and his cuts and the way he shied back from touch. But that could’ve just been the trauma of whatever it was that covered him in blood and drove him to find them in the first place. They couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet.

But if someone  _ had  _ hurt his son, there was going to be hell to pay.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: discussion of abuse (nonspecific/nongraphic) and memories of abuse (specific, including physical abuse and starvation).

“Stop that,” Nora sighed. “Henry told you to stay still. It’s so you don’t get hurt.”

Malcolm went still, peeking out from the extra blanket that Nora had put on top of him. “I’m not going into shock,” he insisted. “I’m not.”

Nora shook her head. “I’m not a doctor, but I trust my husband, which means that you’re going to stay put.”

Malcolm shrank down. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her-his nose was  _ exactly  _ the same as hers, and so was his jawline. And that other guy, Henry, who must’ve been Malcolm’s dad, looked even more like him. They had the same hair, a similar skintone (Malcolm’s was a little bit lighter), the same shoulders, the same eyes…

He’d always wondered why he hadn’t looked much like the Thawnes. But they’d had dark hair and eyes and so did he, which was enough for him. Even if neither of them had the same set to their eyes or his darker skin. Looking at Henry had been like realizing something about himself that he’d never fully conceptualized before. No wonder the Thawne cousins and aunts and uncles had always given him weird looks and spoken about him in exaggerated whispers.

It hadn’t just been because of the fire-or lack thereof.

“You look like him, you know,” Nora said softly after a long pause, inadvertently voicing Malcolm’s thoughts out loud. Malcolm looked at her forehead out of habit. It tricked people into thinking that he was making eye contact when he actually wasn’t. “Like Henry. He was delighted when we found out that we were having twins.”

Malcolm swallowed, and Nora continued without him saying anything.

“There weren’t any complications with the birth outside of a power outage, we weren’t expecting any problems.” Nora shook her head. “Henry told me the doctor was drunk, but… I was too out of it to believe him. And apparently too out of it to realize that my dead son was actually alive.” She clenched her fist and Malcolm dropped his eyes to watch it, holding his breath. “Where have you been for the past seventeen years?”

“With-with my family,” Malcolm mumbled. “My other family, I mean.” Not that they were  _ much  _ of a family. Hugo and Charlene’s two biological kids were old enough now that they’d moved out of the house years ago, which luckily meant that there were two less people to focus their anger on him. Unfortunately, that meant that there were also two less people to do cons, so the job fell to Malcolm. “I didn’t know I was adopted until the night before last.”

The night before last, when he’d run away and gotten on a bus and ridden it to Fallville, Iowa. The night before last, when that doctor told him the story of his birth. The night before last when Malcolm had gotten so,  _ so  _ angry, and couldn’t control himself and-

Nora bowed her head. “I know when my boys are lying,” she said softly. “Not just Barry, but Henry and Darryl too. You’re not lying.”

“‘M not a very good liar,” Malcolm replied truthfully. He wasn’t-people always seemed to think that he was lying anyways, especially Hugo (when he wasn’t yelling at Malcolm to learn to be a better liar for cons, that is), but… He wasn’t. He didn’t dare try to.

Nora nodded and rested her chin in her hands. “Do you want to spend the rest of the night with us?” Unknown to Malcolm, she hadn’t missed the way that he tensed when he mentioned his other family. “Until we can get ahold of your family.”

She very carefully didn’t ask for their names, address, phone number, or any way to contact them. If she was asked, she’d just say that it slipped her mind.

The truth was, if she found out where those scumbags (they must’ve been, normal kids didn’t act like Malcolm had in the very brief time that she’d known him) lived, there wouldn’t be anything stopping her from driving over and killing them herself.

Malcolm jumped a little bit, heart leaping into his throat, when he heard the front door get unlocked. Nora relaxed a little bit and smiled at him warmly. “It’s just Darryl,” she explained. “I called him over. He’s a… A family friend.”

Malcolm stayed very still as she went to open the door, taking ‘Darryl’s’ hand and pulling him inside before shrinking down into the couch when Darryl looked at him with confusion.

“Who’s this?” He asked. “Friend of Barry’s?”

Malcolm didn’t miss the way Darryl looked him up and down with narrowed eyes like he could see right through him.

“It’s a long story,” Nora sighed, squeezing his hand. “Darryl, this is Malcolm. Malcolm, this is Darryl. He’s my-our-friend. Me and Henry have known him since we were kids.”

_ He looks like Barry,  _ Malcolm realized. He looked like Barry in all the ways that Malcolm  _ didn’t- _ Malcolm and Barry looked alike because they both looked like Nora, but everything else made Malcolm look like Henry, and apparently made Barry look like this guy. Darryl. That was… That was  _ weird.  _ Like Darryl was Barry’s dad, not Henry. But they were twins. That didn’t make sense.

Darryl glanced around. “Where are Henry and Barry?”

“Upstairs getting the guest bedroom all set up.” Nora moved back to her seat, pulling her friend with her. Malcolm wondered why Darryl let her do that, since Nora didn’t look very strong, even if she was tall. If Darryl had been Hugo-“Malcolm’s going to be spending the night here, and I refuse to let him spend the night on the couch.”

Malcolm blinked. They weren’t going to just throw him out after a few hours or drive him back home immediately? Even though Nora had offered to let him stay the night, he hadn’t assumed… Come to think of it, Nora hadn’t even asked him for Hugo and Charlene’s names. Or where they lived. Maybe they wanted to see how long they could keep him before they got tired enough of him to drive back to the Thawne house and demand a reward for finding him?

They’d probably be disappointed when they found out that the only reward Hugo and Charlene would have for them would be a couple of thank you and some kind words that turned sour the minute they left.

Oh, god, what were they going to do to him if the Allens drove him back home? Last time he’d run away he’d ended up with three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a sprained ankle that Hugo had let him suffer with for about a week before deciding that Malcolm was useless and unable to perform on cons like this and healed him up again. And that time he’d been caught after only a few hours.

It had definitely been  _ more  _ than just a few hours this time.

Darryl sat down next to Nora in one of the matching chairs pointed so they faced the couch (Nora had forgone them and instead dragged one of the dining room table chairs into the living room (the two rooms were connected) and sat in that instead). He reached out and tapped the scar on the inside of Malcolm’s wrist before Malcolm could react.

“How’d you get that, son?” It looked like it came from a blade-the angle was a little bit too awkward for it to be self inflicted, although Darryl couldn’t truly rule out that being a possibility. The thin line went from the inside of Malcolm’s thumb down his wrist to where it disappeared into his shirtsleeve.

Malcolm tucked his arm underneath the blanket, turning red. “‘S nothing. I fell a little while ago.”

“You fell?” Darryl raised an eyebrow. “You got that scar from a fall?”

Blushing harder, Malcolm nodded. “On-onto a nail. It scratched me.”

That was only a little bit of a lie. Technically, he did fall, Malcolm just didn’t mention that it was because he was pushed. And he  _ had _ landed on a nail, and it scratched down the inside of his arm. Hugo’d kicked him in the ribs for bleeding on the floor (even though Charlene had been yelling at Hugo to fix that nail for months) and ordered him to clean himself up, denying him the cool soothing sensation of the blue flame until every last drop of blood was cleaned up.

“Okay.” It was clear that Darryl didn’t really believe him. But he didn’t push the issue much to Malcolm’s relief. “Are you hungry? It looks like there’s still some dinner on the table."

Nora rolled her eyes a little bit and squeezed Darryl’s shoulder. “You can have some if you want. And Malcolm, sweetie”-Malcolm started in surprise-“you can have some spaghetti if you want. You can have sauce or butter or cheese with it if you want.”

Malcolm ducked his head. Asking for someone else’s food was greedy and rude, he couldn’t just  _ say yes.  _ But he was so hungry, and she was offering, and… And… And Hugo and Charlene weren’t here. They wouldn’t know unless Nora and Darryl told them, right? They wouldn’t know that he’d been rude and greedy unless someone told them. “I’m a little hungry. Mrs. Allen,” he added as an afterthought. “But you don’t have to go out of your way, ‘m not very hungry.”

“The food’s already made, it’s not a problem.” She stood up and wandered over to the table, Darryl sneaking behind her. He made an exaggerated  _ shushing  _ gesture. Malcolm snapped his mouth shut and tilted his head to the side in confusion. He watched as Darryl picked up one of the plates and started eating off of it, hiding it behind his back when Nora rounded on him. “I said you could have your own plate,” she scolded, “you don’t have to steal Henry’s.”

Malcolm covered his mouth with his hand. It shouldn’t have been funny, but there was something about the picture of Darryl smiling innocently (Malcolm couldn’t get the fact that he looked  _ just  _ like Barry out of his head) while hiding the plate behind his back at Nora, who had her hands planted on her hips and her back to Malcolm.

Darryl caught Malcolm’s eye and winked a little bit. Malcolm wondered if he was trying to get on his good side, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would  _ any  _ adult try to get on  _ anybody’s  _ good side if it wasn’t a part of some kind of con.

Nora put some pasta on a plate and walked back over to set it down on Malcolm’s chest along with a fork as Darryl snuck upstairs after abandoning his stolen plate on the table. “Here. You should eat. Don’t sit up all the way.”

Nora sat down and watched him expectantly, so Malcolm ate, thanking her shyly. It’d been days since he had a full meal, and it felt wonderful to start to actually feel full again. And spaghetti tasted much better than leftovers snuck out of the fridge while his parents were asleep.

_Much_ better. 

* * *

 

Darryl knocked on the doorframe of the guest bedroom, leaning against it. “Hey.”

Henry looked up and crossed the room in a few short strides to bury his face in Darryl’s shoulder, making Barry turn red and look away from them. It was still so weird to see his parents being romantic with people other than each other, even if it was only ever with Darryl. Darryl who was his biological dad.

_ Get over it,  _ Barry told himself.  _ You figured it out weeks ago. Stop that. _

“He’s your son, isn’t he?” Darryl murmured, and Henry squeezed him tighter. “Malcolm.”

Henry nodded a little bit. “He’s the other twin. The one we thought was dead.”

Darryl took a deep slow breath and let it out. “Okay. I-Jesus. Okay. Two questions; where’s he been, and where are the people that hurt him so I can kill them?”

“We’re working on it,” Henry promised. He pulled his partner out into the hall, away from Barry’s prying ears. “You think he was abused too? Barry mentioned it.” 

“I can’t say anything for sure,” Darryl said after a long moment. “And it’s easy to be mistaken about these things, although usually it’s the other way around-people  _ don’t  _ notice abuse victims for too long. But…”

“But you do think so.” Henry pressed their foreheads together. They stayed silent for a long, long moment before Henry smiled a little bit. Tight. “He looks like me. I guess we each got one.”

Darryl laughed. “That’s one way of looking at it, I guess.”

“Mm.” Henry sighed. “The guest bedroom’s almost set up, and the shock treatment was mostly a precaution. Malcolm’s shaken up, but he’s safe to move upstairs.” 

They headed back downstairs, hands twined.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of blood, and mentions of verbal abuse. I think that's it, but if I missed anything please let me know.

“This is the guest bedroom.” Barry held out his hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. I can show you where it is if you want. And-oh, you’ll need pajamas. I  _ think  _ some of mine will fit you...”

Malcolm tilted his head to the side. “Huh?”

“Pajamas,” Barry repeated. “For you. I think some of mine will fit.” He looked Malcolm up and down, one leg bouncing. “You should probably take a shower. You’re really, um, bloody. And there’s some mud in your hair.”

Malcolm looked at the floor. “Sorry.” He shifted nervously. “Are-are your parents mad about that?”

“It’s not your fault.” Barry bit his lip. “Well, it kinda is, but you didn’t mean to, and that’s what matters, okay? And Mom and Dad and Darryl definitely aren’t mad, I promise.”

Malcolm didn’t look up. “Can-can you show show me-show me where the bathroom is? So I can shower?”

“‘Course I can,” Barry answered, smiling at him a little bit. “Follow me-I’ll tell Mom and Dad that you’re showering, okay? You’re-you’re not gonna be in any trouble for that either, alright? Just in case you were worried.”

Malcolm ducked his head down even more and said in a tiny voice, “Can you please just show me where the bathroom is?”

Barry turned red. “Sure, uh, just… This way.”

Malcolm followed him, flicking one hand nervously. He needed time to think. And panic. And cry. A lot. A shower would help with that.

Barry showed him how to work the shower before awkwardly backing out of the bathroom, looking anywhere but at Malcolm’s face. He couldn’t decide how he felt about this turn of events. Having a brother that he didn’t know about was a surprise, but he could make himself roll with it. For his parents’ sakes if anything else. Or at least he could try to.

But what if Malcolm hated him? What if  _ Barry  _ started hating  _ Malcolm?  _ He started to pace outside the bathroom door, not realizing that Malcolm could hear him even as he turned on the (cold, he didn’t dare risk being wasteful and taking a hot shower) water. 

Once Malcolm told them who his parents or whoever he was staying with were, he’d have to go back to living with them, but Barry thought it’d be nice if they could still meet up sometimes. Get to know each other better. It wasn’t like once he found out he had a long lost twin he was just going to  _ forget  _ about it. Barry wanted to stay in touch, he really did, but… Ugh. This was  _ complicated. _

Malcolm sat down in the shower with his knees to his chest, watching the pinkish brown water swirl down the drain. They didn’t know what he’d done. They didn’t know what a terrible person he was. Malcolm twisted his fingers in his hair. They didn’t know that he was a bad evil person who deserved everything that Hugo said he deserved, they didn’t know he was a bad evil person who deserved to go to prison for the rest of his life and-and that wouldn’t be  _ so  _ bad, maybe, since Hugo and Charlene couldn’t get to him in jail or prison but… But…

But Hugo and sometimes Charlene told him things about what would happen to him in prison and he didn’t want that. He could potentially be tried as an adult since he was close enough to being one and the crimes were severe enough. At least that’s what Charlene said. That he had to keep his stupid mouth shut about what they were doing because if anybody found out then they would be in a lot of trouble. And stealing and conning and tricking people wasn’t as bad as-

It wasn’t as bad as-

Malcolm’s breathing went shallow and he tucked his head in between his knees.

Mrs. Allen and Mr. Allen and Mr. Darryl were going to hate him when they found out. They were going to hate him so, so, so much. They were gonna yell at him and hand him back over to Charlene and Hugo. And if they weren’t going to do that then they were going to call the police on him themselves.

Malcolm wrapped his arms around his knees and pressed his knuckles into the top of his head. He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t meant to hurt anybody, he really hadn’t-he didn’t even know how it’d happened, he wasn’t very strong, didn’t you have to be strong to hurt people? To  _ kill  _ people? You had to be strong to do that, right?

But Malcolm wasn’t very strong, all things considered, and he’d been able to kill someone anyway.

“I killed someone,” he whispered, quiet enough that he hardly heard himself over the water. “I killed someone. I’m a terrible person and I did awful things and I don’t deserve to be here because Mrs. Allen and Mr. Allen and Barry and maybe Mr. Darryl too are good people who don’t deserve to have me around so I can hurt them.”

It felt more and more true the more he thought about it and the more he said it out loud. Malcolm was a bad person and if he stayed with good people then he would make those good people bad. Simple. 

But he didn’t want to make them become bad people. Maybe if Malcolm tried really hard to be good, to do good, to be a good person, then he wouldn’t corrupt them and make them terrible. Make them hate him. He didn’t want them to hate him, he wanted them to love him like Hugo and Charlene had loved him. Loved him enough to hurt him and loved him enough to try to fix him because he was a freak and  _ needed  _ their help to fix him.

Barry knocked on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?” He asked worriedly. “You’ve been in there for awhile…” He blushed even though Malcolm couldn’t see him. “Do you need some help? Are we out of soap?”

Malcolm scrambled to his feet, slipping a little bit and almost cracking his head open on the wall. “I’m fine!” He called, hoping that Barry didn’t hear the way his voice cracked. Heart pounding, he scrubbed at a few particularly stubborn patches of dirt with the washcloth that Barry had left him and prayed that Barry didn’t come in. Malcolm could think of few things worse than anybody, Barry included, seeing him naked. “I’ll be out soon, I promise!”

Barry hummed to himself a little and rocked back onto his heels. “Alright. I was just wondering if you were okay.”

Malcolm got out of the shower, fumbling to redress himself. His clothes were still dirty, and he knew better than to ask Barry if he could borrow some of his even if Barry  _ did _ say that he would lend him some pajamas, but… He shivered, hugging his shoulders. Malcolm was more than used to taking cold showers by now, but that didn’t make them very pleasant.

“I’m done,” he said softly.

“What?” Barry pressed his ear against the door.

“I’m done,” Malcolm said louder. “You can-you can come in now.”

Barry opened the door and groaned. “I knew I forgot something. Sorry, I-be right back.” He ran out and reappeared with pajamas in his arms. “Here, put these on. I’ll take your dirty clothes downstairs.”

He held out the pajamas expectantly, and Malcolm blinked at him. Did Barry expect him to change in front of him? His stomach tied itself into a knot. He couldn’t do that, he  _ couldn’t do that,  _ did Barry understand that he couldn’t-

Malcolm grabbed the pajamas and took a deep breath. “Can you… Can you turn around? Or leave? Or something? Please, I-I can’t-I can’t change in front of you.”

Barry nodded. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll wait outside again.”

Malcolm waited until the door was shut before changing hastily, wincing when he found that because Barry was taller than him the shirt was too long but also too narrow, hugging him uncomfortably. He tugged at it, trying to make it cling to his chest less. “You can come back in.”

Barry opened the door, looking Malcolm up and down. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lip, hoping Barry wouldn’t comment. Luckily, Barry didn’t mention it, instead pointing to the sink. “Your toothbrush is right there, and you can use this toothpaste.” He opened one of the drawers and pulled out a tube of it. “We can brush our teeth together if you want.”

God, that sounded so  _ weird.  _ Barry mentally berated himself. It sounded stupid and weird especially with the hope in Barry’s voice.

Malcolm didn’t seem to notice anything odd, however, much to Barry’s relief. Hopefully he’d keep letting Barry’s awkward fumbling slide. Barry had never had a brother before-or he did, but he hadn’t exactly  _ known  _ about it. He didn’t have any idea how he was supposed to do this. Barry had decided earlier to try to treat it like having someone that he had never met over for a sleepover, but even that made it seem more awkward than it was.

And it was already  _ super  _ awkward.

“So,” Barry said, trying to be casual, “are you leaving tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” Malcolm fiddled with the bottom hem of his pajama shirt. “Maybe.”

“I was just wondering ‘cause I’m gonna be at school,” Barry explained. “And I didn’t know if you were going home in the morning or during the day while I’m there. Or in the evening when I’m home again.”

Malcolm looked at the sink so he could avoid having to look at Barry himself. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I don’t know when I’m going home.”

“Oh.” Barry bit his lip. “It’s-it’s not like I want you to go or anything, I wanna know more about you and I wanna be your friend and all that, I just-I just-I just, um, wanted to know.” He could practically feel the way that he was digging himself into an even deeper hole. “Sorry.”

“‘S okay.” Malcolm put his toothbrush down. “Should I-should I tell your mom and dad that I’m going to bed?”

“I can do it.” Barry smiled at him and reached out to squeeze his upper arm.

Malcolm stepped back to avoid him. “Don’t touch me. Please. I don’t like being touched.”

“Okay.” Barry dropped his hand. “I’ll go tell Mom and Dad you’re going to sleep, okay?”

Malcolm relaxed a little as he let his shoulders droop. “...Okay.”

Nobody outside of the people in this house had ever listened to him when he told them not to touch him before.

Being listened to for once… It was nice.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: mentions/slight discussion of abuse.

Barry woke up first.

That’s unusual. He’s not a morning person unless he has something really, really motivating him to get up and get moving. And he always slept in as much as he possibly could on school days. That was just the way it worked.

Today, though, he was up before everyone else.

He yawned and stumbled out of bed, fumbling to get dressed. It’d be a nice surprise for his mom, at least. Barry had to put the same shirt on three times before managing to get it on right. Maybe he  _ should  _ get back in bed and go back to sleep.

No, he’d wake up more later, he was sure of it. And this way he had some time to talk to Malcolm-Malcolm!

Barry pulled some jeans on and scrambled for the guest bedroom. He’d peek in there and hope Malcolm was awake. If he wasn’t, Barry would head back to his room and wait for his mom to come in and try to wake him up. (They’d discovered only a few days into Barry’s freshman year of high school that since the walls of Barry’s bedroom were so thin an alarm clock would just wake everyone  _ else  _ up. Often without even doing its job. Nora fondly said that Barry could probably sleep through a hurricane.)

Barry cracked open the door to the guest bedroom, peeking inside. Malcolm, as it turned out, was more than awake, and he was sitting on the bed in Barry’s borrowed pajamas with his legs crossed and one hand tugging at his own hair. Malcolm was looking at the small strip of wall just to the left of Barry, and as Barry tilted his head to try to see what he was looking at, he found that the wall was exactly how it had always been. That is to say, it was a wall painted light brown with absolutely nothing on it.

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping into the room and pulling the door shut behind him. Malcolm jolted, tearing his gaze away from the wall and looking at Barry with wide eyes. To him, this room had suddenly become unsafe. Barry was taller than him, stronger than him, and Mr. and Mrs. Allen knew him better than they knew Malcolm. If he tried to attack Malcolm-“How long have you been awake?”

Malcolm dropped his gaze to the duvet, shifting position so he was hugging his knees to his chest. He was less vulnerable that way. “About an hour. I think.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Barry frowned. “Since you don’t have school-wait,  _ do _ you have school?”

Malcolm blinked and looked harder at the blankets. He stayed silent.

Barry coughed awkwardly. “...Okay. Anyways. You can sleep in even more if you want, though, since even if you do have school you’re obviously not going to be able to go today. I just wanted to see if you were awake because I woke up earlier than usual and I wanted to… Talk.”

“With me?” Malcolm blinked again, slower this time. He couldn’t think of any reason why Barry would  _ want _ to talk to him. “You wanted to talk with me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Barry shrugged a little bit and jumped up onto the bed, a little too close for Malcolm’s comfort. “You’re my brother. I want to get to know you better.”

He smiled at Malcolm, a lopsided grin with squinty blue eyes that lit up the whole room with how genuine it was.

Malcolm wanted to throw up.

How did he manage to trick Barry into think he’s a good person? Someone who deserved love and someone who deserved to be a brother in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered, voice cracking as he tried not to let himself cry. “Okay.”

Barry’s smile vanished. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to make you upset, I promise.”

“M okay,” Malcolm mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Barry sounded genuinely concerned. Like he really did care what Malcolm’s answer was. Like he was exactly who he was acting like-a genuinely good person who wanted to be Malcolm’s friend. Wanted to be his brother.

“Y-yeah.” Malcolm hugged his shoulders. “I’m sure.”

Barry tilted his head, reaching out to hug Malcolm’s shoulders. “That’s good. I’m-”

As soon as his arm made contact with Malcolm’s body, Malcolm reacted.

He jerked in place, one hand shoving Barry away while the other one smacked him away hard enough to leave a red mark on Barry’s cheek. “No!”

Barry yelped in surprise, hand coming up to touch his cheek. “Ouch!”

“I’m sorry!” Malcolm gasped, crawling away from Barry as fast as he could and almost falling off the bed in his haste to get away. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to, please don’t tell your parents, please don’t tell your parents I hit you, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Barry said in a rush. “It hardly hurts, it just surprised me, that’s all. It’s okay. I won’t tell Mom and Dad. And I won’t touch you again, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

He felt bad. He hadn’t meant to forget, he hadn’t meant to hurt Malcolm, he really hadn’t. It had been a mistake. One that Barry wasn’t going to make again.

“Please don’t tell your parents,” Malcolm repeated. “Please don’t tell them.” Nora and Henry were going to be so mad at him, and then they would tell Hugo and Charlene, and then-and then Hugo and Charlene would be upset at him because they were always upset at him, and then-“I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna…” His breathing went rapid. “Please don’t get me in trouble.”

“I promise, I won’t tell my Mom and Dad or Darryl,” Barry vowed. “Okay? I’m not going to tell them if you don’t want me to. Like I said, it didn’t even really hurt.”

Malcolm sniffled a little bit. “Please, please don’t tell them.”

“I’m not going to,” Barry assured him. “Take a few deep breaths, okay? You’re okay, I promise. I’m not going to tell Mom and Dad and Darryl and even if I  _ was  _ going to, which I  _ weren’t,  _ they wouldn’t be mad enough at you to hurt you. They would  _ never  _ be mad enough at you to hurt you, I promise. They’ve never hurt me before and they’d never hurt you either.”

Malcolm shook his head. “No, you don’t-you don’t understand, you-”

“I understand that you think they would hurt you,” Barry said softly. He moved closer to Malcolm but didn’t touch him again, keeping his hands in his lap where Malcolm could see them. “I understand that it’s probably because your other family would hurt you. I understand that you think I’m lying to you about whether or not they would hurt you.”

Malcolm covered his years uselessly. “Please,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please, I really-I really need you not to tell them. I know you don’t think they would hurt me but I  _ know  _ they would if they knew how bad of a person I was. Because I hit you, and because I hurt people, and because I-because I-because I’m a  _ bad person  _ and I don’t want them to know.”

Malcolm felt like he was going to throw up. Barry’s eyes went wide. “I meant my promise, Malcolm,” Barry whispered. “I meant it when I said that I’m not going to tell them.”

“You promise you’re not going to tell them?” Malcolm hugged himself, Barry’s pajamas pulling tight fabric across his chest uncomfortably. He wanted to get the shirt off too. It made him look too… Too… He couldn’t even make himself think it. “You really won’t tell them?”

“I won’t,” Barry assured him. “I really won’t.”

“Oh.” Malcolm’s eyes glimmered with tears of what was left of his fear and new embarrassment at his minor breakdown. “Oh,” he repeated. “Oh, okay. Th-thank you.”

“No problem. And-and I’m sorry, about touching you without asking. I knew you didn’t like it and I did it anyways and I’m sorry,” Barry apologized in a rush. “It was my fault.”

“But I’m the one who hit you.” Malcolm whimpered.

“It’s okay.” Barry offered him a smile. “You’re okay and I’m okay. And that’s what matters.”

Malcolm looked at him, eyes wide. Nobody had ever said that about him. That him being okay was what mattered. Nobody except for the people in this house seemed to care about him. They did things like listen to him when he asked them not to touch him and say that they wanted him to be things like ‘okay’ and they’d given him food and…

This was  _ weird. _

At least with Hugo and Charlene things had been routine. It had hurt and he had hated it and them but at least there had been some normality too it. normality for him, anyways.

He wanted that normality back.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Card shark librarian Nora is happening and you can't stop it.
> 
> Warnings: mentions of emotional abuse, which basically overshadows the entire fic. Let me know about any other warnings I should add, but I can't think of any.

Malcolm sat on the couch in the Allen family living room, hugging his knees to his chest. “What-” He swallowed. “What do you usually do when Barry’s at school?”

“Not much,” Nora said softly, sitting down beside her son. “I have the night shift Wednesday through Friday, but Barry gets home before I have to leave for work and I don’t need to go today since it’s Monday.”

Malcolm blinked at her. “You-you have a job?”

“I work at a library,” Nora answered. “I can bring you to it if you want to check out some books. Barry likes getting comics.”

“Th-that’s okay.” Malcolm crawled back a tiny bit. “I’m not very smart. Or good at reading.”

Nora frowned. “I’m sure that’s not true,” she said gently. “I’m sure you’re very smart, Malcolm.”

“I’m not,” Malcolm insisted as he shook his head. “I’m really, really bad at reading n’ I’m not very smart in general. But especially at reading.”

He didn’t like talking about it, since it was a constant source of amusement for Hugo and Charlene (especially Charlene), but… If he  _ didn’t  _ tell Nora about it then that would basically be the same thing as lying. And lying was punishable. Plus, if he lied, then they would decide that he was a bad person who they didn’t want around their  _ real  _ son Barry and they would send him back to his parents.

“Well, I can help you with that sometime if you want,” Nora offered. “I don’t know how good of a teacher I am, but I can try to help you.”

“...Okay.” Malcolm looked away from her, feeling awkward and uncomfortable and out of place. “Thank you?”

Nora smiled gently at him. “You’re welcome. We don’t have to do it now. But we’ve got the whole house to ourselves since Henry and Darryl are both at work if you want to do something else.”

She had years worth of bonding to do with her son, and she was determined to make up for all those missing years.

“Like what?” Malcolm tilted his head at her. Why did she  _ want  _ to spend time with him? Didn’t she realize that the more time she spent around him the more he would corrupt her and make her a bad person just like he was? Did he have to  _ tell  _ her that since she evidently hadn’t realized it yet?

“Well, could play a board game,” Nora suggested. “Or we could watch a movie. Barry likes doing that, especially when he’s sick. That way we don’t have to actually talk. We can just… Enjoy each other’s company and focus on something else.”

“We don’t have to talk?” Malcolm perked up a little bit. “Let’s do that.”

Nora smiled wider. “Okay. But before that, do you want to eat something? You skipped breakfast.”

Malcolm had stayed in the guest bedroom and pretended to sleep when Henry went in to wake him up, trembling under the covers and hoping that the man didn’t touch him to try to wake him. Even though Barry told his parents that Malcolm had actually been awake before all of them, Nora and Henry had decided that it would be better for him to stay in there where he clearly felt safer instead of forcing him to come out and eat with them even if he  _ was  _ clearly way too underweight.

“I’m not that hungry,” Malcolm lied, looking down at his hands and curling them into loose fists. “And I don’t want to be greedy. You don’t have to waste food on me.”

Nora’s eyes went wide. “It’s not greedy to want food,” she said gently, trying to conceal her worry. “You hardly had a chance to eat anything last night, and I want you to eat something. I think you’ll feel a little safer if you have something to eat. I can make you a sandwich?”

Malcolm shivered. “I-I don’t want to be greedy,” he repeated. “I know I’m greedy, but… I just… I don’t want to be greedy when I’m at your house because-because being greedy is  _ expensive  _ and I don’t want to be expensive,” he explained all in a rush before adding as an afterthought, “and I’m not-I’m not that hungry.”

“I know you’re not hungry, but it would make me feel better if you ate something,” Nora coaxed. “And like I said, it’s not greedy to want to eat. Sometimes it can be expensive, but it’s not expensive for me to make you a sandwich right here in my kitchen.” She reached out to touch his arm before pulling her hand back when he flinched back like he’d been burned before she even made contact. “I’m not a  _ great  _ cook, Henry and Darryl are both better, but it doesn’t take a lot of skill to make a sandwich.”

Malcolm hesitated, looking torn. His eyes flickered back and forth from his hands to Nora. “...You  _ promise  _ it won’t take any money?”

If it didn’t take money or a lot of skill and effort then it wasn’t really the same thing as being greedy, was it? Was it? It couldn’t have been, right? Especially since Nora had  _ offered  _ to make him something to eat… 

“I promise. I’ve got some turkey and cheese in the fridge and there’s some bread, I can just throw something together for you. Or if you don’t eat meat there’s still the cheese.” She was smiling at him so kindly that Malcolm felt like he was going to start crying. “Does that sound good? There’s some leftover pasta from last night, too.”

“T-turkey is good,” Malcolm said nervously. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” She stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “This’ll only take a few minutes. You can wait here if you want.”

Malcolm waited, alone with his thoughts while Nora moved around the kitchen.

He was  _ so hungry- _ telling Nora that he wasn’t had been a complete and total lie. But he had so many issues around food… So much food was  _ bad  _ and he couldn’t even explain why, just that he couldn’t eat it and had to spit it out immediately. But turkey and cheese and bread were all good foods, and Nora seemed to genuinely want him not to be hungry, so it was probably going to be okay.

Nora came back and held out a blue plate with a sandwich on it. “Here you go.” She sat down beside him. “So,” she said awkwardly as Malcolm took a huge bite out of his sandwich and then started trying to cram the whole thing in his mouth, “do you know how to play poker?”

Malcolm froze. Why did she want to know that? He nodded very slowly, holding on tight to his sandwich crush before eating that, too. “My parents used to play poker,” he said slowly, “with-with our neighbors. They taught me how to play poker. And how to cheat at poker.”

It was more like he had learned by watching them relieve their constantly-changing neighbors of all of their money every week, but that was basically the same thing as actually learning, right?

Nora’s eyes lit up. “Henry and Darryl both refuse to learn how to play, and even though I taught Barry how to he’s really, really bad at it. But my Dad taught me. Do you want to play it with me? Or-wait, no, there’s not enough people for a good game.” Her face fell before brightening again. “Oh! Do you know how to play gin rummy?”

Malcolm shook his head hesitantly. “I-I don’t, I’m really sorry.”

“Do you want to learn?” Nora asked him hopefully.

“Alright,” Malcolm relented. It’d be useful for him to know when the Allens eventually sent him back to Hugo and Charlene.

Nora pulled a pack of cards seemingly out of nowhere, making Malcolm jump. “Alright! So, the rules are…”


End file.
